Three minutes until arrival.
I half-walk, half-jog across the lot, all too aware of the way the light behind me flickers when I cross beneath its orange glow. Overhead, the fiery sunset colors have faded from the sky, leaving behind a dark cobalt blue that darkens, the longer time stretches on.
By the time I reach the far lamppost, the car is still sitting right where it was on the map when I ordered it, and the time stamp still says three minutes. So irritating when they do that.
I tuck my phone into my back pocket and wrap my arms around myself. Then, conscious of how defensive I look, I unfold them again and lean against the lamp post casually, eyes on the road. A few cars trickle past. Some of the drivers or passengers shoot me weird, confused looks. I guess they don’t get a lot of pedestrians in this area of town.
Then a truck slows, and my pulse jumps. It’s not the license plate number I’m looking for, so it can’t be my ride.
Sure enough, the side window rolls down, and a man with tattoos up both arms leers out at me. “Hey babe,” he calls. “Give you a ride somewhere?”
“No thank you,” I reply through as tight a smile as I can manage.
His friendly—if you could call it that—expression immediately melts. “Fucking bitch.” He narrows his eyes. “What, too good for me, is that it?”
The last nerve of my fraying patience snaps. “Yes, that is exactly it. Now fuck off,” I shout, my voice rising.
Not smart. I know it’s not smart. It’ll only provoke him. Sure enough, he puts the truck into park and glares at me furiously now. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
And then, from over my shoulder, a familiar baritone. “You heard the lady. She told you to fuck off.” Lark’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, gentle and reassuring at the same time.
I square my shoulders and resist the urge to sink back against him. My heart is still hammering in my chest because I’ve met a million assholes like this truck driver and I don’t know what will happen if he escalates. Will Lark have to fight him?
But the asshole just turns and spits out his window, then slowly drives off, scowling at us in his rearview and muttering curses the entire time.
“I told you not to follow me,” I complain the moment the asshole driver is out of sight.
“And I ignored you, obviously,” Lark replies, stepping around me so we’re face to face, my back still pressed up against the lamp post. “Sometimes you’re too stubborn for your own good, Cass.”
“Coming from you, that really says a lot,” I reply. I can’t help it. The corner of my mouth tugs up into a smirk.
Lark’s does too. Then his hand drifts up, hovers between us. I don’t pull away this time, even though I know I should. His hand cups my cheek, and his fingertip brushes the corner of my smile, lightly. A barely-there touch that does more to ignite the fire in my veins than any other guy could with a lot more ammunition. “What are we doing?” Lark asks quietly, and I know what he’s asking.
Why are we separate right now? I can feel the tug in the core of me, drawing me toward him, a gravity I’ve been fighting to ignore all week.
One I can’t bring myself to anymore.
“I don’t know,” I admit, my breath so quiet the words are almost a whisper.
He bends toward me. So close I watch his pupils dilate where they’re fixed on mine. I forget all my earlier resolve. There’s only so much willpower I can use up in a day before all my resistance drains from me. Lark is as addictive as a drug, and damn it, I need another hit.
His hand slides from my cheek along my jawline, until he’s cupping the back of my neck. He draws me toward him, and my eyes fall shut.
His lips collide with mine, harder than I expected. I don’t mind because I’m too busy wrapping my arms around his neck, dragging him toward me. His tongue parts my lips, the kiss deepening, until it feels like he’s claiming my mouth for himself, marking his territory.
I want him to.
I raise one leg to wrap around his waist, and in response, he pins me against the lamppost. I gasp at the feeling between my thighs, the hard press of his cock through his jeans, where it grazes my upper thigh. Just bare inches from my clit. I arch my hips up and angle myself toward him, and he laughs a little, his lips still pressed to mine.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he murmurs.
“Shut up and kiss me,” I hiss back, which only makes him laugh more. He turns to obey my command, kissing his way along my jawline until he reaches the edge of my neck. Then he bites down, sharp and unexpected, not enough to hurt, just enough to make me gasp.